Shall We Dance?
by Pinoko K
Summary: One theme. Four characters. Four short stories. Four point-of-views. Deacon, Nora, Shaun, Nick.


A/N: This is a story with one common theme, four characters, and four chapters.

Deacon. Nora. Shaun. Nick.

Characters are based on the ones in my main story Project Wanderer. If you want, you can see this as a side story.

Enjoy.

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Shall We Dance?

Part One

"There. It's done," said Shaun as he put the radio on the desk.

It was an easy task. Taking some old equipments apart to study the inner workings was his hobby, one he had picked up at a very young age, five decades ago.

His mother turned the dial. For a moment, there was nothing but static. The woman didn't give up though; she never did. Persistence was her virtue.

His mother. A woman who looked more like his daughter. A woman half his age. Their family was the most unusual, so was the life of Director Shaun Taylor.

Just then, the static noise faded as a man's voice started to take over.

"-Diamond City Radio," said the DJ. "It's… er… it's me. Travis."

The smile on his mother's face couldn't be brighter. "Thank you, Shaun. You're handy, just like your father."

"Father," Shaun uttered as if he was testing a foreign word. He'd never met the man who'd contribute half of his DNA. "What was he like?"

"He was a soldier," said his mother. "So was your grandfather, and your great-grandfather. Your father, he was… kind, and funny. He caught my attention because he made me laugh."

A sense of humor? That came as a surprise.

"He was also driven, a little stubborn, but very protective. When he was around, I knew everything would be all right."

A man whose life had come to an end when protecting his infant son.

"You look very much like him, Shaun," his mother told him with a gentle smile. An expression he'd come to like quite a great deal. "I wish he could see you now…"

"I… do regret not having a chance to get to know him," Shaun admitted.

"We can't change the past," said his mother wistfully. "Your father would be very proud of you, son."

A strange surge of emotions washed over the stoic director. Shaun blamed his old age for being sentimental.

When the DJ's mindless babbling stopped and a tune started to play, his mother's eyes lit right up.

"Your father and I danced to this song at our wedding," his mother reminisced, then suddenly asked, "Do you know how to dance?"

"What?" It took Shaun a second to properly process the question. "...No. I was… always busy."

The gentle smile on his mother's face returned as she held her hand out. "Come on, I'll teach you."

"Now?" Wasn't it too late for an old man to learn? "Why?"

She merely shrugged. "Why not? It's something I always wanted to teach you when you were a baby."

"Dancing?"

"How to dance, how to ride a bike, how to play piano… Your grandma was a piano teacher. She insisted on teaching me as soon as I could sit on the bench without falling over. I thought I could pass on the family traditions."

What would happen if the bomb had never dropped? If he had grown up in that normal, loving household?

"Come on, Shaun, it's easy." His mother took one of his hands and placed it on her waist, then held the other in hers. "Just relax and follow my lead."

Shaun felt ridiculous. But he indulged his mother, for the woman had been through too much. Perhaps it was one of the few last things he could do for her. Soon, he would be gone, and all she had left would be memories - memories of her late husband and her only son.

"Don't look at your feet, son. Look at me. You're doing great."

As the music continued and he was more familiar with the simple steps, Shaun started to enjoy strange ritual a little more. The gentle voice of his mother's instructions, her praise, her warmth, and her smile. Those were all little things that had been missing in his life, little things that he had craved when he was a child, little things that he had convinced himself that he didn't need when he was an adult. In his twilight years, Shaun had found what had been missing in his entire life.

It was a little too late. But, as always, it's better late than never.

For the very first time in his entire life, Shaun Taylor had finally found peace.

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A/N: This story is inspired by the artwork tomberi-no drew for me, a very detailed pencil drawing of Nick and Nora dancing (you can see it at my blog). It's written for and dedicated to tomberi-no-san, whose drawings always inspire me to write some of the most outlandish Deacon/Nora short stories. (Things that are too crazy for Project Wanderer, but are insanely fun to write. None of them are posted, except for this one.)

Thanks for reading.

Contact info: gmail - pinoko19, tumblr - pinoko-k.


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